


The Demon's Nest

by School_Of_The_Cat



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Creature Fic, I'm Going to Hell, Incubus!Jaskier, M/M, Mild Smut, Novigrad (The Witcher), The Witcher Lore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:15:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23200000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/School_Of_The_Cat/pseuds/School_Of_The_Cat
Summary: Large, rounded ram’s horns sprouted from between wavy bristles, with white markings curling down its spine to its thighs, to where its legs tapered down into those of a faun, cloven-hoofed and all. Geralt stepped forward, unsure, causing the floorboards to creak, and making the creature suddenly roll onto its back, facing its aggressor. The Witcher faltered as he saw the slender tanned torso of a young man.“An Incubus…?”He stumbled backwards, tripping on the raised lip of a rug, landing flat on his back.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 3
Kudos: 70





	1. Contract

It was the scent that made him take the job. It was weak at first, as he wandered the lower central part of the city, but became increasingly potent as he made his way up towards the docks where the brothels and unpleasant places were kept. The scent was sweet, like honey and milk, and something about it made his chest stir unpleasantly. It was a smell he couldn’t quite place- that was until he saw the contract on the notice board in the city square. Geralt was surprised, almost to the point of disbelief; there hadn’t been a Succubus in Novigrad for the better part of a decade, not with the strict dominion that the church of the Holy Fire held over the city, and the rampantly paranoid witch hunters burning practically anything that moves. How could a succubus survive here, in this city? 

But the smell was unmistakable; rich and hot and _dangerous_. Even he had to be cautious: for a succubus to survive in Novigrad alone, it would have to be an incredibly powerful one. And the fact a notice had to be put up about it meant that not even the witch hunters of this city could take care of it -pheromones must be too strong for a normal man. 

_Crap_. 

Geralt didn’t sleep that night, only stared awake in the darkness with the thick scent of cream burning in his mind. 

The notice stated that the beasts' lair was up towards the docks, nestled somewhere in behind a crop of brothels and bars. The man who put up the notice warned the Witcher that the creature was incredibly difficult to find, as it never stayed in the same place exactly, and most likely those who _did_ stumble upon it died of exhaustion shortly after. Not uncommon for a Succubi of this nature, yet still Geralt felt increasingly uneasy. 

It was afternoon, and the townspeople flooded the cobbled street, rushing about their business. He stood a moment, in the square, eyes closed as he tried to narrow in on the scent again; sweet cream. A breathless moment, then there it was, clear as birdsong, cutting through the mob of dirty peasants. His cat eyes opened, pupils sharpened, and he took off, briskly sprinting up the road to the docks, where the air changed to a brackish vapour, and shouting of whores and shipmen overtook the sounds of casual conversation. 

The scent was thick now, so much so he could almost taste it, turning a corner to a small alleyway, where the smell made his head buzz. It was coming from a little apartment at the end of the road, it’s worn wooden door opened just a crack as if to invite in eager prey. Geralt gripped his silver blade, choking on the pheromones, and with one swift kick burst through the door and into the jaws of the beast. The room was dark save the light of candles, which dripped from every surface, and incense burned vaguely from some corner of the space, making the air purple with smoke. In the middle of the room lay a large bed laden with a thick feather mattress and red silk sheets, which oozed with the smell of sweat and sex. In the centre, laid on its stomach, faced away from the door, was the succubus. 

Large, rounded ram’s horns sprouted from between wavy bristles, with white markings curling down its spine to its thighs, to where its legs tapered down into those of a faun, cloven-hoofed and all. Geralt stepped forward, unsure, causing the floorboards to creak, and making the creature suddenly roll onto its back, facing its aggressor. The Witcher faltered as he saw the slender tanned torso of a young man. 

“An Incubus…?” 

He stumbled backwards, tripping on the raised lip of a rug, landing flat on his back. The creature was on him in a second.

“Come to kill me then, Witcher?”

His breath was sweet and close on his face. Geralt gasped.

“Oh, expecting a woman then, were you? Sorry to disappoint.”

The Incubus looked unexpectedly young, like that of a man in his twenties. His face was soft and dangerously pretty, with wildflowers nestled in his mess of brown hair. Cold grey eyes raked over the victim from where he was straddled. 

“Get off of me, demon,” was all Geralt managed to grit out from underneath the warm body, as he managed to rid himself of the thing, pushing himself free with one arm. 

He was crouching now, and he faced the creature, still breathing hard from the struggle. 

“I was told you were a succubus.”

“Were you, then? I suppose people have a difficult time discerning between the two in the throughs of passion.”

Geralt’s stomach churned, the intoxicating scent of the creature crowding the room. 

“Don’t touch me, filth. I am not so easily tricked into sleeping with you.”

“You sure? I’ve never had a Witcher before, I’m sure you’d be good.” He licked his lips, Geralt’s patience clinging by a thread. 

With one arm, he picked the slender thing up by his waist and carried him over to the bed, where he roughly flung him down into the pillows. The creature blinked up at him, and he hovered over his bare chest for a brief moment, mind clouded by the willing skin that lay underneath him. He blinked, then threw a blanket over him, before turning for the door. The incubus sat up incredulously.

“What, not going to kill me after all then?”

“No. You’re no threat, just a nuisance. Stop exhausting men and we’ll be even.”

“Wait!” He struggled to sit up, clutching the fabric around him. “What’s your name, Witcher?”

“Geralt.”

“Visit me again tomorrow, Geralt?” The room sweetened with the question.

“Hm.” Was all he bothered to reply, before turning for the door and stepping back out into the daylight. 

* * *

Geralt managed to stay away for at least a few days afterwards, which was better than any other man had managed. He kept busy with odd jobs- “bodyguard needed,” or “I think my neighbour is a vampire” (he wasn’t), mindless tasks to keep his growing unease at bay. But despite his best efforts, the Incubus’s scent clung to his clothes, and everywhere he went he saw visions of those big grey eyes. He quickly began to rethink his decision to spare the creature, and eventually, after the third night of no rest and relentless irritation, he set out for the docks again. 

“Decided to kill me after all, then, Geralt?” 

The incubus was wearing a silk shirt this time, slung loosely across his trim shoulders, and was admiring himself in a floor-length mirror, jewels sparkling fiercely from his neck. 

“No.”

“Oh really?” 

He stopped his fussing long enough to turn. 

“Why _are_ you back here, then?”

Geralt darkened. 

“I don’t… know.”

A venomous smile crept over the creature as he stepped closer, body shifting under the baggy fabric.

“Couldn’t stand not having me, then?”

“That’s not it either.”

“Then why?”

“Because,” Geralt took a step back towards the door, “I suppose I was curious.”

“Curious?”

“yes, as to how an Incubi could survive alone in Novigrad this long without getting caught, it’s unheard of.”

“So, your interest is purely scientific, then?” The creature’s pointed ears twitched with sudden interest. 

“You could say.”

“Then shouldn’t you start with my name?”

For whatever reason, it hadn’t even dawned on Geralt that he would have one. Though they spoke nicely now, he still saw him through the eyes of a Witcher, as a beast to be slain. Putting a name to him suddenly made him a lot more human. 

“What is it then? Your name.”

The incubus smiled and now satisfied, turned back to face the mirror again.

“Depends,” he mused, “I have many names. To my clients, I’m usually ‘Dandelion’, or ’yellow flower’. To you, I am Jaskier.” He smiled at his reflection, admiring the jewels he was wearing. 

“Clients?”

“Well yes, how else do you expect me to make a living? I spellbind them afterwards, obviously, lest I want my head to end up on a pike in the market square. But for a price, I can be whoever you want, for however long you can handle.” 

Jaskier went on a while more about life in the gutters of Novigrad. He shamelessly bragged about how he would steal from the poor men he lured in, and how he managed to stay hidden by moving his business frequently, and by paying local brothel owners to protect him. As Geralt listened, he became increasingly aware that Jaskier enjoyed talking very much, and that he could probably do it for hours, if he let him. But the sun started to dip low on the horizon, and Geralt felt his eyes grow heavy, and he’d be damned if he would fall asleep in an Incubi’s den. 

“I have to get going, Jaskier.”

“Already?” His face made a pout as he sank onto his bed. “Will you visit me again tomorrow? It’s been so long since anyone bothered to listen to me, and I find your company very pleasing.”

Geralt’s pulse quickened slightly at the compliment, and he agreed. 

“Kiss me goodnight?” He asked, his scent changing to the same needy one as before, the Witcher struggling to control himself. 

“No. Goodnight.” He shut the door swiftly behind him. 


	2. Favour

“I need a favour.” Jaskier’s tail flicked against the sheets from where he lay, a long pipe caught between his teeth. The two had been talking for a while now, mainly about politics and art and occasionally of Geralt’s adventures, but the creature’s tone had shifted suddenly, his eyes narrow and cunning.

“What favour would an Incubi need that he couldn’t do himself?”

“Well lots of things,” He took a long drag from the pipe, eyes fixed on the Witcher,

“Mainly protection.”

“Protection from what?”

Jaskier sat up for a moment, eyes glinting. A jewelled earring winked from beneath his hair, swinging as he crept closer to where Geralt sat perched on the edge of the bed.

“I want to leave the city. I need to; my supplies are running low, and there are herbs I need that the brothel owners in my employ can’t get for me. I have a supplier outside of town, he could-“

“Hold on, are you insane?” Geralt’s eyes widened at the creature’s vigour. He couldn’t see how it would be possible for Jaskier to take one step out his door without being mobbed by hungry men. That, or by excitable witch hunters, which the city was also crawling with. 

“Relax, I’ve done this before. The only catch is, the city has been on high alert recently, and now that word’s out there’s a creature of my ilk running around, I’m more likely to be caught. But…”

“But?”

“If I have a tall, handsome Witcher by my side, nobody would think me anything but human,” His hand was on Geralt’s chest now, “and if they did, they'd be too scared to fuck with you anyways. It’s a great plan all around!”

“What if you get mobbed by desperate men?”

Jaskier flashed a dubious smile.

“That is why I have this,” he swivelled around on the bed to face the chest of drawers that leaned against the headboard, procuring a small vial of blue oil. 

“What’s that?” Geralt nodded at the tube dangled confidently between Jaskier’s slender fingers. 

“A pheromone suppressant. They won’t be able to smell me this way, so the only risk I run is them falling helplessly for my good looks, as opposed to my scent.”

He wrenched the cork from the vail with his teeth, taking a hearty sip. He scrunched his nose at the taste, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Immediately Geralt could tell his scent was dulled; just a vague throbbing, as opposed to the screaming neediness that it was before. His eyes landed on Jaskier’s mouth, which still had a bead of the oil on his fat bottom lip. He quickly looked away.

“I hope you’re planning on putting on some clothes, at least.” Geralt said, eyes downcast. “Walking around in barely anything would be a dead giveaway.”

“Obviously,” Jaskier replied, already pulling on a shirt. The legs would be the only issue, Geralt thought, as the Incubus pulled on a drab grey robe that brushed the floor as he stood. He looked almost as if he could pass for normal now, a grey hood covering his horns. 

“This is fucking insane,” Geralt groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. Jaskier was already admiring himself in the floor-length mirror beside the bed, laughing incredulously. 

The Witcher insisted the Incubus stay close behind him as they manoeuvred through the city. They kept mainly to back-alleys and abandoned roads that had light foot-traffic, moving briskly as Jaskier tried this best to keep his head down until they were out and into safety. 

They were close; so close Geralt could see the hamlet on the other side of the moat, so close he could hear the townsfolk working in the fields nearby, and the children playing in their yards. They were _so fucking close_ to climbing down into the muddy banks below the gates and out into the free air when _he heard it_. 

Two witch hunters, both relatively young men, boasting loudly about their latest kill, turned a corner and were coming quickly up the alleyway behind them. Geralt’s blood stilled as he looked down at Jaskier, whom evidently had heard them too, and was so pale the markings on his skin had practically disappeared. He froze for a moment, mind churning at a million miles a second, eyes panicky as he tried to come up with a plan. The witch hunters would see them try and smuggle themselves out of the city, or possibly, pass them and notice the hooves that stuck out just below Jaskier’s coat. The incubus turned, eyes alight with fear, grabbing the Witcher’s arm. 

“Kiss me.”

Geralt pulled away, startled. 

“What?” 

The witch hunter’s boots were deafening on the cobble behind them. 

“Just do it, they won't see us.”

Geralt hesitated. The witch hunters laughed, only seconds behind them. He leaned forward and lightly took the creature’s face in his hands, facing away from the approaching threat, kissing him softly. 

The witch hunters laughed to themselves as they passed them, oblivious to the pair, enamoured in their own conversation.

Jaskier’s lips tasted sweet and delicate; hesitant at first, just a slight touch, before he latched onto the Witcher’s bottom lip, sucking hard on the flesh. Geralt gasped, pulling away slightly, but the creature’s small hands were at the back of his neck, moving him closer and deepening the kiss feverishly. His tongue was hot in his mouth, and suddenly Geralt forgot to pull away, lost in the battle for dominancy as Jaskier groaned, the Witcher’s hand snaking beneath the grey robe to find his bare skin. His hands burned as the incubus squirmed beneath him, so hot he thought he might melt through him entirely. He bit at the creature’s mouth and he reacted, coiling closer, hands in his hair. 

The two witch hunters were long gone; a realization that only dawned on Geralt many minutes later. He pulled himself away, panting and flushed, and Jaskier looked just the same, eyelids heavy and mouth kiss-stung. They stood breathing hard before Geralt felt the shame kick in.

“Not bad, white one.”

“Shut up, that was stupid. They could've noticed you.”

“But they didn’t.” Jaskier grinned slyly, mouth still flushed with blood. 

The rest of the journey was silent- Geralt’s gut writhing with a mixture of embarrassment and shame. Jaskier’s scent was starting to become stronger now, and it clung to him as they walked side-by-side, the incubus occasionally brushing his hand against the Witcher’s, to which he would flinch annoyedly. They reached Tretogor gate, to which they helped each other down across the mucky riverbank and into the small patch of cottages outside. 

Jaskier marched ahead confidently now, tail swaying as he relaxed at the familiar territory. They walked to the last of the cluster of houses to a drab building with a sign labelled “tailor”. Geralt stopped.

“I thought you needed herbs.”

“Oh, I do,” Jaskier skipped ahead gaily, “You’ll see, my friend Elihal buys them for me. Safer that way.”

Elihal was an elf with high cheekbones and feminine demeanour. He brightened at the sight of his friend, kissing him on both cheeks. Geralt stood awkwardly as the two caught up.

“I’ve heard the city is getting more dangerous, friend.” The elf moved behind a table to procure a small bag of herbs hidden underneath. “I keep hearing about the burnings in Hierarch Square. I hope you’re being careful.” It was then that Elihal finally acknowledged Geralt’s presence, who was standing darkly by the door. 

“I have help,” Jaskier’s tail flicked. 

Money exchanged hands, and finally, he moved for the door, pulling his hood up once more to hide his eyes. 

“Oh, and brother?”

Jaskier stopped again, tuning.

“Come to me, if you are ever in need.”

Geralt caught just the barest hint of wary in the elf's voice. 

The journey back into the city was significantly less eventful, with the sun setting and the business of the day winding down into a mellow evening. The two walked in silence, Jaskier clutching the bag of herbs close to his chest, lips parted, as if deep in thought. Geralt didn’t think to press him on it. 

**Author's Note:**

> I was reading about Succubi in the Witcher games and apparently there's also Incubi, but you never come across any. I love the idea of a big bad Witcher being wrapped around a demon's pinky finger, and who better to play the role than Jaskier lmaoo
> 
> anyways I don't really know what this is but it's here


End file.
